


Family Matter

by orphan_account



Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Evil is Petty, F/M, Gen, Swordfighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 01:13:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6779023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"the world’s worst combination between Die Hard and The Parent Trap.”<br/>—Charity Carpenter, this very fanfiction</p><p>alternatively: In which one daughter brings two sets of parents together. Not nearly as heartwarming as that sounds.</p><p>Post-Proven Guilty, Pre-Small Favor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so, notes:
> 
> 1\. This is embarrassingly domestic.  
> 2\. This takes place sometime after “Proven Guilty” but before “Small Favor”.  
> 3\. There is no way that this isn’t crack. This is absolutely crack. But it’s not even good crack? It’s more like baking soda.

Charity Carpenter might not have been a Knight of the Cross, but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t recognize a knock on the door. Especially when it came in the form of a literal knock on her literal door.

She set down the dough she’d been kneading, wiped her hands on her apron, and quickly ran through a list of possibilities. The school would have called if it was one of the kids, Molly and Sanya had keys and therefore Harry Dresden did as well, and none of the last attackers had knocked. Still, it didn’t hurt to be careful, and she picked up the large kitchen knife before heading to the door.

Standing outside was a young woman, a bit older than Molly but a good deal shorter, cocooned in an oversized sweatshirt. When she lifted her face to meet Charity’s eyes, the older woman saw the ugly bruise that purpled a good half of her face. “Is your husband home?” the girl asked.

“No,” Charity said. “But—” She hesitated. It wasn’t a good idea to let strangers in. Especially given Michael’s job and the attention that his family attracted. And even if this girl was human, Charity wasn’t a domestic abuse hotline. There was only so much she could do. But it would be un-Christian to turn away a stranger in need. God worked in mysterious ways, which was a fairly significant part of Michael’s job, and… why not admit it? The girl reminded her of Molly.

“Come in,” Charity said finally. She sat the girl down at the kitchen table, put the knife down on the counter, where she could grab it if she needed it, and put a kettle on. “What’s your problem?”

The girl stared at the table, tracing a whorl in the wood with a light brown finger as her other hand played with bits of dark hair that had escaped the confines of her hood. “It’s my parents,” she said, as the water started to boil.

Charity eyed the bruise as she handed the girl a mug of green tea. “They give you that?”

The girl’s hand went to her face, knocking her hood back. She had a face that seemed oddly familiar to Charity—wide-set dark eyes, a sharp nose, and a narrow mouth. But at the same time, Charity knew she’d never met her before. Maybe she was the older sister of one of Hope or Amanda’s friends? She looked a bit old to be living at home, but college costs _were_ spiking.

“My parents would never hurt me,” the girl said with complete assurance. Her mouth twisted into a scowl. “I got in a fight on my way here. I was trying to get help.” She picked up the mug of tea and sipped, careful to keep the rim of it away from the bruise. “Thank you.”

Charity sat down with her own mug of tea. “What do you need my husband for? I can’t imagine how a man who builds houses would be able to help you with what you’re going through.”

“My father knows him,” the girl said. “It’s complicated.” If the way she stressed the second word made Charity think that she knew about Michael’s other job, the next sentence out of her mouth all but confirmed it. “And if I’m right, he should be showing up soon, shouldn’t he?”

Right on cue, the door swung open. “Honey,” Michael called, “I’m—” He cut off with an abrupt choking sound as his eyes landed on the girl, and his expression went from shocked, to confused, to wary. When he spoke, his voice was somber. “Have you decided to seek redemption?”

The girl tilted her head back and laughed. A shiver ran down Charity’s spine and she made to stand, but the girl caught her wrist and gripped with inhuman force, still laughing.

She had her father’s laugh.

Charity gritted her teeth as bones ground against each other. Michael unsheathed Amoracchius, and a hum filled the air.

Deirdre Archleone stopped laughing and let Charity go.

“Put that _away_ ,” she snapped. “If I wanted to kill your wife I would have done it when she opened the door.”

Michael didn’t say anything, just settled into a fighting stance, letting his duffel bag fall to the floor.

The Denarian rolled her eyes. “I’m proposing a truce,” she said. “For an indeterminate period of time. I need help.”

“Would this have anything to do with the chaos in Hyde Park?” Michael asked, eyes narrowed.

There was a pause. Deirdre’s shoulders slumped. “Yes,” she said quietly. “I need to stop what’s going on. Put your sword away and you have my word that I won’t raise a hand against you.”

“Or your hair,” Charity added. Michael had told her about that.

“That I won’t raise my hand _or_ my hair against you,” Deirdre said.

Michael frowned, but put his Sword away and came to sit at the table. “You’re going to need to tell me what’s going on.”

Deirdre scowled. “My father and I were visiting the University,” she said. “For reasons.”

“To _ruin lives_ ,” Charity snapped.

Deirdre shrugged a shoulder. “Sure, go with that. Anyway. We ran into my mother. And things got messy. And now there’s a ton of unplanned collateral damage that could end up… poorly.”

“So let me get this straight,” Michael said. “You want me to risk life and limb to stop your mother and father—two villains who have caused countless deaths over the centuries—not because of the innocent lives they’re endangering now, but because their antics will foil one of your plans to cause more murder and mayhem?” His voice had taken on the steely tone that only came when he was truly angry. “And to get me to do this, to draw my attention, you came to the house of my wife who has done nothing to you?”

Deirdre stared at the table, her shoulders hunched. Her hair hung down, covering her face, but through the strands Charity could see that her eyes were bright.

Charity ground her teeth. She was _not_ supposed to want to give a mass-murdering servant of the Devil himself a cup of hot chocolate and a hug. She was being emotionally manipulated. This was unfair.

“They’re my parents,” Deirdre said, her voice tight. In the moment of silence that followed, a thought flitted unbidden across Charity’s mind— _there but for the grace of God goes my daughter_. And then the Denarian spoke again. “I’ll trade you for it. I’ve got Moloch and Sariel.”

Michael’s eyes narrowed. “I recovered Sariel,” he said, “not two months ago.”

“Did you now?” Deirdre said, wide-eyed. “Well, golly! I bet if you ask _extra nice_ your Boy Scout leader will give you the same badge twice, so you can pin it on your sash and feel real good about yourself.” She reached into her sweatshirt pocket and dropped the two Coins on the table. They bounced a few times before settling, and Charity leaned away instinctively.

Michael frowned, but pulled out a handkerchief and wrapped the Coins in them. “It’s not too late for you to give up your own, you know,” he said.

Deirdre burst into giggles. “You’re _funny_ ,” she said when they subsided. “The last one wasn’t nearly as puppyish as you!”

The “last one” had bled out over the course of several hours from the hair-inflicted stab wounds to her gut. Michael still had nightmares about it. About holding his friend while her body got colder. And he’d wake up and reach for her and bury his face in her hair—but he was on the road so much. Statistically speaking, there had been nights when he’d woken up alone in a motel room somewhere, cold and alone. Charity seethed, and Michael reached out to cover one of her hands with one of his. She gripped it, feeling the callouses there.

“I’ll help you,” Michael said finally. “Charity—”

“—is coming with,” Charity finished for him. “As she has a sword of her own and is free for the next few hours.”

Michael sighed.

Charity leaned across the table to peck him on the mouth. “Let’s suit up.” She pulled back to shoot Deirdre a glare. “ _You_ will sit here and drink your tea and not move, or so help me God I will collect your Coin without any holy Sword. Are we understood?”

Deirdre gave her a catlike smile and nodded, holding up her mug of tea. “We are understood.”

“Good,” Charity said, and went up the stairs with Michael.

After a few close calls, they had begun to keep doubles of armor in their bedroom. It had become disturbingly _normal_ for Charity to fall asleep staring at the sheathed sword resting near the door. Now that it was time for her to use it, she didn’t feel half as nervous as she had imagined herself feeling. Instead there was a calm sense of readiness, tinged with a good bit of anger, and—amusement?

“This is ridiculous,” she told Michael.

He shrugged, the broad muscles in his shoulders working. “God works—”

She cut him off. “I know. What I mean is—we’re this close to literally re-enacting the world’s worst combination between _Die Hard_ and _The Parent Trap_.”

He gave her a guilty smile as she helped him with his breastplate. Okay. It was less helping and more touching his chest. “I fell asleep halfway through the Lindsay Lohan one,” he said.

An answering smile tugged at her lips. “Maybe we’ll be able to fix that tonight,” she said.

He swept a lock of hair out of her face and leaned in for a kiss. It was short and sweet. “Maybe,” he murmured when he pulled back.

They went downstairs.

A green-scaled, crimson-eyed, metal-haired _demon_ was sitting at their kitchen table, calmly sipping from a mug of green tea.

Michael frowned. “We’re not going downtown with you looking like that,” he said firmly.

“Why not?” the demon rasped.

“Because,” Charity said, “We’re minimizing bloodshed.”

The demonform faded away and Deirdre sat in the chair, scowling. “I can kill just as many people in this form as I can in the other one. Maybe more.”

“Can you now,” Charity said as she headed for the door. “Because I have a feeling that if you try me, you’re going to develop a major case of sword-in-chest-itis.”

Deirdre stood and, slouching, headed for the door. “Nicodemus lets me run around like that.”

“In case you haven’t noticed,” Michael told her. “I’m not Nicodemus.”

Deirdre let out a gasp. “Really? Are you _sure_?”

Charity scowled as she jerked a van door open. “Demon goes in the backseat,” she snapped. “Michael, you sit next to her. If she tries anything funny—”

“—I will gently but firmly dissuade her,” Michael said. His hand came to rest on Amoracchius’ hilt.

Maneuvering into the driver’s seat while wearing not only armor, but also a jacket over the armor was difficult in a way that had Charity employing a few choice words. But she finally settled herself into the seat, buckled up—and glared in the mirror until Deirdre did as well—and started off down towards Hyde Park. It was a bit of a drive, and more often than not they ended up stuck in traffic.

“Can this thing go any faster?” Deirdre asked.

“No,” Charity said, and flipped on the turn signal.

“It could if you went on the sidewalk,” Deirdre said.

“If it’s so slow then you can get out and walk,” Charity snapped, and made the turn. She patted the steering wheel. “Ignore the bratty Denarian, Velma. She doesn’t count.”

The bratty Denarian shut up for a whole three blocks. It was glorious.

And then Michael spoke. “So. Why are you willing to trade?”

Deirdre sighed. “They were too weak to help me, and therefore could be in a better place than with their hosts. Besides. It’s not like you’ll have them for very long.”

Charity felt her hackles rise at that last comment, and sent up a quick prayer. _Lord, please give me the strength to keep my husband safe as we walk into… whatever this is_ . _Amen._

It didn’t take them too long to happen upon the outskirts of the chaos. Charity parked Velma a block away from where the barricades had started, and the three of them started toward the crowd forming near them. “Alright,” Charity muttered, once they were only a few feet away from the police officers and ambulances. “What’s the plan?”

“Right,” Deirdre said, and rolled her shoulders a few times, looking both queasy and determined. And then the Denarian moved so quickly that Charity barely registered it, grabbing both her and Michael’s hands and shoving them into her hair.

Her hair, which was evidently capable of independent motion. Charity yelped and tried to pull her hand away. Deirdre glared. “If you don’t mind,” she snapped. “I am trying to focus on veiling us.” Her tendrils of hair tightened their grips. “Now. If either of you tall people get any smart ideas about taking obnoxiously long strides, I _will_ go into my battle form and you _will_ lose a hand.” She said a word and the world warped as a veil wrapped around them. “Also,” she said, “Don’t move your fingers too much. I get tangles.”

Charity met Michael’s eyes over the Denarian’s head. Very slowly, he shrugged a shoulder.

 _I like it better when you’re fighting_ _her_ , Charity mouthed.

 _Me too_ , Michael mouthed back.

Moving with slow, deliberate steps, the three of them made their way through the crowd, past a gap in the orange-striped roadblocks, and around a corner. Only then did Deirdre’s hair release them, and the girl leaned back against a building, panting and drawn.

“You’re not very magically gifted,” Charity observed. Deirdre glared silently, and Charity took that as encouragement to keep going. “So you’re forcing it, aren’t you? Relying on your Fallen for the power that you just used. But it comes at a price.” She swallowed. She wasn’t Michael. The most convincing she got was when she was getting the kids to get to bed on time. And her still-strained relationship with Molly was proof that even that wasn’t her strongest suit. But, hey. Water, stone. Deirdre had showed up on her doorstep for a reason. “Every time you give that demon more power over you, you’re taking a step further away from redemption. Doesn’t some deep, buried part of you want to be forgiven?”

Deirdre was silent for a long moment. Finally she spoke. “You know, I didn’t think I believed in miracles…”

Michael’s eyes widened. Charity’s breath caught in her throat.

And the Denarian burst into laughter. “But straight lines like that are proof that I’ve been blessed.” She pushed herself off of the wall and stretched, and bones creaked as her body contorted.

Charity drew her sword. Just in case.

Deirdre, once fully transformed, didn’t try anything. She did raise one hand to the mass of overlong metal blades growing from her scalp, but that was only to pat it gently. It was moving back and forth slowly.

Charity frowned. “You were green last time.” The demon’s scales were bronze, almost the same color as her skin when she looked human.

Deirdre scowled. “And your husband’s getting a potbelly, but I’ve been polite enough to not mention it. Now that we’ve finished stating the obvious, shall we get to work?”

“What, exactly, do you want us to do?” Michael asked.

“Well,” Deirdre said. “One of you is going to get between my parents and stop them from killing each other. The other one gets to help me.”

“I’ll handle the Denarians,” Michael said.

Deirdre gave him a short nod and then frowned. Her demonform faded away and she stuck a hand in her sweatshirt pocket. Evidently not finding what she was looking for, she ran her hands through her hair. After a moment of that she pulled out a pen, uncapped it, and grabbed Michael by the wrist.

Michael caught her writing hand. “How do I know that you’re not going to put the sigil of your Fallen on me and leave me at its mercy?”

Deirdre snorted, and then—

Wait.

She was checking Michael out. She was giving him what Molly called a _once-over_.

Charity wasn’t sure if she was supposed to be outraged, terrified, or shocked. She settled for gaping like a fish.

“Buy me dinner first,” the Denarian said.

That pushed Charity firmly into _outraged_ territory. “That is my husband you’re talking to,” she snapped. “While I’m standing right here.”

Deirdre cut her gaze over to Charity, lifted an eyebrow, and shrugged. “You two can split the bill if you like. I’m not complaining.” She took advantage of Michael’s silent shock to pull her hand free and write a small circle of runes around his wrist in neat blue ink. “Anyway, this won’t give anything power over you. And it’ll wash off the next time you shower.” She let go of him and turned to face Charity. “And you are helping me.”

“With what, exactly?” Charity asked.

Deirdre gave her a broad smile. She must have started transforming, because her teeth were closer to shark than human. “I’m so glad you asked.”


	2. Chapter 2

Polonius Lartessa’s day was only getting worse. As Nicodemus’ sword swung down towards her, she whirled out of the way and called up a thunderbolt. 

Nicodemus didn’t even blink. He brought up his shield—stolen from a fallen security guard—to block the bolt, and advanced further. Tessa scrambled back. She’d dropped her sword on the last block. If she could just get to it, she’d turn the tables on him so fast his neck would break from watching it.

“Give it up, Lartessa,” Nicodemus taunted. “You’re a two-bit fencer at best, and I’ve seen better magic tricks at children’s birthday parties.” He dodged another thunderbolt. “And that lipstick looks awful with your complexion—did you steal it from Rosanna?”

“I look  _ great _ , asshole!” Tessa shrieked. And then she whirled, dropping down to a knee. Nicodemus saw the opportunity and took it, lifting his sword for the blow that would take her head off.

Tessa activated her shield. Nicodemus’ sword bounced off of it, and he stumbled back a half-step. That moment was all Tessa needed to grab the gun out of the dead cop’s hand. She dropped her shield and opened fire.

The first bullet whizzed by Nicodemus’ ear. The second hit him in the shoulder, the third in the chest. He dropped down to one knee as Tessa stood, aimed at a spot between his eyes, and pulled the trigger.

The gun clicked.

Tessa pulled the trigger again.

The gun clicked again.

Nicodemus laughed and stood. “This is what I mean when I talk about long-term planning and how you fail at it so abjectly,” he said. He lunged. Tessa dodged to the left, threw the gun at him, and sprinted away. She heard it clatter off his shield as she leapt over a crashed car.

_ He’s following you _ , Imariel told her.  _ I think you should blow the car up _ .

Tessa hit the end of the block and headed left.  _ I’m already past it _ .

Imariel sulked.  _ There are more cars _ .

“I am not indulging your pyromania kink,” Tessa muttered as she picked up her sword. Nicodemus had kicked it over by a fire hydrant and it was resting there still. She gave it a cursory glance—it was fine. “I have a husband to kill.”

Stupid smug Nicodemus and his ugly face and dumb haircut and  _ she didn’t even like him anyway _ —

Anduriel wrapped themself tightly around her ankles as Nicodemus strolled down the street, sword in hand. His Noose had already healed the bullet wounds.

Tessa snarled. “Cheater.”

Nicodemus gave her an affronted look. “Am not.”

“Are too,” Tessa retorted, and raised her sword. “You’re a cheater who’s too scared to go up against me going all-out.”

“Maybe I just think that your petty vengeance fantasies aren’t worth indulging,” Nicodemus said. “And that you’re attempting a see-through ploy to manipulate me into doing just that.”

“I’ve got three hours of fighting and five blocks of destruction that say that you’re more than willing to indulge me,” Tessa told him. “Why don’t you quit pretending that you have some mystical sort of high ground?” She infused the next sentence with as much sneer as she could. “You’re just as bad as you think I am.”

That did it. Anduriel released her as Nicodemus threw away his shield and raised his sword. “Prove it,” he snapped, his voice thick with hate.

She ran at him and did just that. They met in a clash of steel, trading blows as they chased each other up and down the street. It was rather offensively tree-lined, swarming with large, blocky buildings. One of them, a bookstore, was where she had run into Nicodemus in the first place. Imariel was pleased to note that both it and a fair amount of the trees were on fire. So pleased to note it, in fact, that they mostly ignored the swordfight.

And that was Tessa’s downfall. She was a skilled fighter, having spent twenty full centuries wielding a blade. But Nicodemus had nearly a foot and about fifty pounds on her and therefore the upper hand. He sent blows at her that she could only block, and even blocking them forced her off-balance. An especially bad one had her hitting a lamppost.

Oh well. At least she had something against her back.

Not for long, though.

One of the many burning trees finally tipped over, hitting the car parked underneath it. Tessa heard the thump of impact, saw Nicodemus’ eyes widen—

And then the force of the explosion knocked her through the large glass window of the bookstore.

Even after two thousand years, she hadn’t stopped closing her eyes at the moment of impact. That was one of the advantages of having a Fallen residing in your mind, though—they could shake away the shock. Imariel was there as Tessa opened her eyes, helping her block out the throbbing ache that permeated her body.

_ Your sword’s in the corner _ , they said.  _ You’ll need to get the glass out first, though _ .

“Right,” Tessa said, and gave herself a quick but thorough once-over. She’d been attempting to blend in with the students, and had opted for shorts and a tee when she dressed that morning. Now she was paying for that. Her arms were mostly glass-free, but her hands were littered with the stuff, and her right leg had several slivers and a decent-sized shard sticking out of it.

She went for the shard first. Imariel blocked most of the pain, thankfully, and Tessa was long since used to the sight of blood—her own or others’. All in all, this wasn’t a bad situation.

And then the door opened, and Nicodemus stood in the doorway, and it went from “not bad” to “awful”. Tessa hissed wildly and got her left leg under her, preparing to shift into her battle form—

Only to freeze in confusion and topple back down. Nicodemus had sheathed his sword, and he looked almost worried. “Lartessa,” he said, and caught her before she could hit the ground, one hand on her hip and the other wrapped around her upper arm. He guided her out of the glass and had Anduriel right a chair from the mostly-destroyed café. As he crossed the room to get her sword, Tessa de-glassed her leg and started on her left hand, sucking the pieces of glass out and spitting them down into a pile of books that some fleeing mortal had dropped. Nicodemus returned with the sword, set it down where she could easily reach it, and knelt to start working on her right hand.

Tessa wiped her left hand clean on her shirt and brushed his hair back into place as gently as she could. 

“You’re clear,” Nicodemus said. And he pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist, lifting his eyes to meet hers.

Tessa grabbed him by his stupid cheating Noose and, using the hand she had in his hair for leverage, hauled him up into a real kiss.

Nicodemus was the one who pulled back, his gaze suddenly years away. “Deirdre?”

Tessa frowned. “She left earlier, didn’t she?”

He shook his head. “Anduriel says she’s here. With a Knight and a civilian. The Carpenters.”

Tessa sighed. And just when things had been lined up for her to actually be able to get some. She stood anyway, and grabbed her sword. “Let’s go find them, then.”

The two of them didn’t have to go very far before the sound of steel on steel caught their attention. Deirdre was fighting the two Carpenters, blocking their swords with her hair. Sparks flew as blades clashed. As they watched, Deirdre turned one strand’s slashing motion into a gripping one. She caught the Knight around the wrist and yanked him a foot to the right before his sword flashed through her hair.

“Did you teach her that one, or did I?” Nicodemus murmured.

Tessa shrugged. “Either way, we are the best parents.”

He gave her a grim smile. “Absolutely. We’ll team up to take the Knight?”

“First blood gets taken out to dinner,” Tessa said, and charged. The Knight swung to meet her as Deirdre focused all of her attacks on the woman. Armor and sword or no, she wasn’t up to the task of fending off a fifteen-century-old Denarian. Mrs. Carpenter sprinted off down the street, Deirdre following her.

Tessa giggled.

“Listen,” the Knight shouted. “Doesn’t it mean anything to you—”

“Probably not,” Tessa said, and struck. Her aim was his unguarded armpit, but he shifted his arm so her blade bounced off of plate metal. He was equally quick parrying Nicodemus, who aimed for the wrist of his sword arm.

Nicodemus and Carpenter started talking at the same time, both of them at Tessa. It was really irritating. Would she have to kill both of them?

_ Go for it _ , Imariel said, despite the fact that a three-hour fight against an invulnerable opponent had burned out most of both of their magical reserves.

“I really hope you have a change of clothes, Lartessa—”

The Knight was right-handed, so Tessa went right ahead and swung at his left. With a grunt of effort he swung his sword so he was blocking both her and Nicodemus’ attacks.

“—That your daughter, your  _ child _ —”

With another grunt the Knight swung out at both of them, forcing Tessa back.

“—I don’t know any place I’d be willing to go to—”

Tessa ducked under the blade and adjusted her grip on her sword. She could try to skewer Carpenter. But she’d need to get in close for that.

“—was raised in misery and in sin because of your pride and arrogance—”

She feinted to the left and Carpenter stomped on her foot.

“—that takes in people dressed as atrociously as you are now.”

“—when otherwise, she could have been happy?”

“Your  _ personality  _ is bad enough.”

Tessa yanked her foot back and spat on the ground. “Eat shit,” she snapped.

Nicodemus and Carpenter spoke in unison. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

Tessa snarled and swung.

At Nicodemus.

He brought up his sword a fraction of a second too slow. For a long, satisfying half-second, blood ran down his face. “I hope you like hot wings and onion rings, honey darling,” Tessa said cheerfully. “Because that was first blood.”

That was when things started to get complicated. Nicodemus swung at her and she ducked, only to come back up with a slash that could have decapitated him and Carpenter both. Carpenter blocked it, sending her stumbling. Nicodemus’ sword whistled down toward her leg.

Dodging would mean falling. Holding her ground would mean losing a leg and then dying. There wasn’t any time to transform.

She dodged and hit the ground hard. She blinked away shock and lifted her sword to defend against two killing blows—

That never fell.

Sure, her calf had started to bleed—her dodge hadn’t been as good as it needed to be—but neither Nicodemus nor Carpenter was gunning for her. Carpenter had driven Nicodemus into the street and they were both pacing, staring at each other. Nicodemus had his back to her.

Fantastic. She’d be able to interrupt Carpenter’s latest spiel about the inherent goodness in human hearts  _ and  _ skewer her husband like a particularly tasty bit of meat at a barbeque. She stood, picked up her sword, and crept to the middle of the street.

Then two things happened at once. A sparkling green orb bubbled up from Carpenter’s wrist and wrapped itself around him.

And the street exploded.

It happened so quickly that Imariel and Anduriel barely had time to react, but react they did, and time froze—or at least, slowed down.

_ You can’t morph quickly enough _ , Imariel said.

_ I know _ , Tessa responded.

And she leapt into the air. She called her shield to her as an especially large bit of pavement rushed up toward her, and the recoil sent her further up.

Nicodemus caught her, and Anduriel caught them, propelling them up at breakneck speed. Once they were free of the blast, Tessa wriggled in Nicodemus’ grip until his hold on her was slightly less uncomfortable, and stared up at him. “What was that.”

“Anduriel says a gasline exploded,” Nicodemus said. “Was that your idea?”

Tessa shook her head. “Was it yours?”

“No.”

For a moment neither of them said anything, and Tessa ran through a tally of the damage they’d done. As far as she knew, none of it was bad—for her at least—but the fact that the Carpenters had showed up was worrying. She kept her group small for the specific purpose of avoiding Knights. She’d probably steer clear of the Midwest for a while, unless some truly amazing opportunity presented itself.

And there was another thing—Carpenter’s shield. That was  _ her  _ magic, or a close approximation. She was going to hunt that Knight down and strip the flesh from his bones. And then she’d find out where he got a hold of  _ her fucking magic  _ to shield himself with. And then she’d kill him.

She entertained herself by thinking about his death agonies for a moment, and then—as per usual—Nicodemus ruined everything. “Deirdre’s hurt.”

“Why didn’t you say so earlier?” Tessa snapped as he began to lower them toward the street.

“Because,” he said, “Anduriel was trying to find both escaped Carpenters, the source of the explosion, and our daughter. At once. While she isn’t in her battle form.”

“Right,” Tessa said, and tried to twist out of his grasp. He glared and then tracked his gaze down to her calf.

Which was still bleeding. Wow.

That was a  _ lot  _ of blood she’d probably lost.

_ About a pint _ , Imariel said.  _ I’ve been slowing your heart rate _ .

_ Thank you _ , Tessa thought back. With a minor amount of will she was able to shift her lower leg’s skin into chitin. There.

They landed neatly, and Tessa even managed to stand without stumbling. She hurried down the street.

Deirdre was curled into a small ball and her head was the center of a rapidly widening pool of blood. Razor-sharp blades littered the ground, many of them shattered. Some were sparking with green light.

“Shit,” Tessa snarled, and knelt by her daughter’s side. “Deirdre!”

Up close she could see that Deirdre’s hair, her beautiful black hair, was matted with blood—and that in some places, so heavily matted that it looked more like large clots of blood than hair. Deirdre’s eyes were half-open and glassy. “Wake up,” Tessa said, her voice sounding hollow even to her ears. She could feel her heart pounding.

She felt cold. For the first time in centuries. She’d seen her daughter take more damage than an explosion. She’d seen her daughter hurt worse than this. But Deirdre had always been in her battle form, and she’d always healed. For her to be human, curled up and vulnerable…

Deirdre’s hands were curled, and Tessa grabbed at them, checking for a Denarius. She’d personally hand it over to the Church. She’d kill the Carpenters—no. She’d kill their kids and make them watch. Then she’d kill them.

Deirdre’s fingers closed around hers. “Mother?”

“Yeah,” Tessa said, hoarser than she would have liked to have been. She didn’t care. She squeezed Deirdre’s hands tight. “What happened?”

Deirdre let out a small, pained grunt, and something in Tessa’s heart twisted. But she couldn’t help her daughter—couldn’t do anything—without knowing what was going on.

“Hair shattered,” Deirdre said. “I was using it as a focus. For shielding. From the blast.” Tessa frowned. Well, that explained the Knight’s shield. It wasn’t uncommon for bits of Dee’s hair to break off. “My neck…”

Her neck had been cut in a fair number of places. Nicodemus crouched down and pressed his hand against a larger cut, slowing the flow of blood.

“If you shift, it’ll heal,” he said. His eyes were narrowed and his face was steely.

“Can’t,” Deirdre said. “My Fallen’s burned out.” She huffed and pushed herself up into a sitting position. Nicodemus kept his hand on her neck, but her blood had started to flow through his fingers. 

Inside Tessa’s mind, Imariel was a mess of flashing light. “Your Fallen,” they said, using Tessa’s mouth, “is  _ burned out _ ?”

“They’ll be fine in a day or two,” Deirdre said. “It’s happened before, Ima, don’t worry.”

Imariel withdrew.

Tessa didn’t push it. Her daughter had learned magic from Namshiel the same way Tessa had, but Deirdre didn’t have the innate ability, talented Fallen, or patience to keep up with practicing over the centuries, the way Tessa had. And when you added the fact that she spent most of her time with Nicodemus  _ anyway _ … it was unlikely that she really worked on anything but a few offensive spells. Little wonder that shield had burned her out.

The wailing of police sirens caught her ear, and in an instant she had grabbed hold of both Deirdre and Nicodemus. “ _ Lihastir _ ,” she snapped, and pulled a veil over the three of them. The world got slightly blurry around the edges as they headed away. Nicodemus took the lead after the first block; guiding them to the area in Undertown that Deirdre had staked a claim on back in the 1880s. As they walked, Tessa wriggled out of her tee and tied it tightly around Deirdre’s neck. Not wanting to have to go through the hassle of killing her way through the police as they tried to stop her for “public indecency”—especially when she wasn’t even being publicly indecent—she kept the veil up until they were safely underground and in the med room. It was deserted, as Squires tended to go crazy and die in annoyingly large amounts when left in Undertown, but well-stocked.

Nicodemus was the one who stitched Deirdre’s neck up, his hands moving with quick, precise motions. Tessa sat on the cot next to her daughter’s and dealt with her calf. Once she willed away the chitin it started bleeding again. It wasn’t as bad as it had been, but still annoying.

_ What do you think caused the explosion?  _ she asked Imariel.

There was a bit of psychic static that resembled snickering before her Fallen answered.  _ Magic does have a way of interfering with mortal things like gas pipelines _ .

_ And both of the Carpenters got away _ , Tessa said.

_ Yes _ .  _ The Knight has Moloch and Sariel. _

Tessa sighed. Today had been a series of losses. Rosanna had absconded with the new potential host for Magog as soon as she’d seen Nicodemus and Deirdre. Moloch and Sariel had not only lost their hosts, but were in the hands of the Church  _ again _ —and she’d just gotten them back, too. Sure, Rosanna would turn up with Magog and the three of them could get the Coins back, but it would have been really satisfying if Tessa’d been able to deal with the Knight or his wife. Knights went so hilariously berserk when you killed the ones they cared about. Like the one who had had  _ Fidellachius _ before the Japanese guy—she’d just about gone insane when Tessa ripped her sister’s throat open.

Nicodemus’ silent fuming distracted her from her reminiscing. She reached out with her good leg and prodded him in the back. “Use your words.”

Nicodemus gave her a bleak look but did, in fact, use his words. “Don’t do that again,” he said to Deirdre. “I am  _ not  _ going to lose you like that.” He finished bandaging Deirdre’s neck, then kissed her—on the forehead, once, his hands tight on her shoulders—and sat down next to Tessa, cleaning Deirdre’s blood off his hands with an antiseptic wipe.

Deirdre touched the bandages lightly, and Tessa could see the pain in her face. “I won’t,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Tessa said. “If your father and I hadn’t… been…”

“Strongly disagreeing,” Nicodemus offered.

“…That…” Tessa said. “It wouldn’t have happened. So…”

She looked at Nicodemus. He looked back at her. They both looked at Deirdre.

“I blame the Carpenters,” she said. “The street didn’t blow up until they showed up.” 

“That’s fair,” Nicodemus said. He paused. Looked at Tessa. “You know, since you’re in town,” he said. Shrugged a shoulder. “The three of us could get dinner.”

Tessa smiled at him. She didn’t even show teeth. “I’d like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so, more notes:
> 
> 1\. Moloch and Sariel are actual fallen angels, at least according to Wikipedia. Presumably Tessa and Rosanna (and Magog) recovered them in time for Small Favor, only to lose them again.
> 
> 2\. Tessa uses Hebrew as her “magic language”. “Magen” is Hebrew for “shield”. “Lihastir” is Google Translate Hebrew for “hide”. “Ima”, in addition to being a diminutive of “Imariel”, means “mom” in Hebrew.
> 
> 3\. Fallen are referred to with gender-neutral pronouns because they are sexless by nature (unless they Fall by banging people and adopt a sex to do so) and also because shut up is why. Feel free to assume that the reason Nic genders a Fallen around Harry (if he ever does) is because Harry’s brain is too Neanderthalean to comprehend anything outside of the gender binary. And that Father Forthill genders Fallen because he’s a Catholic priest and if I have to give any more explanation than “he’s a Catholic priest” I will LITERALLY sell my soul to the Devil and help bring about the apocalypse just so I don’t have to deal with the sheer crushing weight of human stupidity.
> 
> 4\. The exact nature of the Tessa/Nic relationship probably made a lot more sense to you if you’ve read Homestuck, and I absolutely hate myself for saying that. Suffice it to say that they’re extremely volatile, emotionally, and Deirdre was making the best choice available to her by bringing in Michael.
> 
> 5\. Charity heard Nicodemus laugh this one time when he called Michael’s cell phone for a reason that must have been crucial to some overarching scheme he had going on. But Michael had left his cell phone at home before going out to wherever, so Charity picked up. And then she drove Velma all the way to NYC and her and Michael had an epic swordfight with Nicodemus.
> 
> 6\. Nicodemus doesn’t take off the Noose and use it on Deirdre because he, Tessa, and Deirdre know that Tessa would not be able to resist the temptation to stab him. I don’t blame Tessa as I wouldn’t be able to either.
> 
> 7\. The exact nature of Deirdre’s plan was as follows: use Michael to keep her parents on the street, have Charity wrap a strand of detached metal hair around a pipleline, generate a shield strong enough to cut through metal. This shield was technically three shields: the one around the pipe, the one around Michael, and the one around her. Her hair shattered because she was using it as a focus, the same way that Harry uses his staff + blasting rod as foci, and running a stupidly large amount of magic through it. Imariel and Anduriel aren’t snitching because (1) they thought it was a good plan and (2) the last time Tessa and Nicodemus started fighting, they got pretty close to killing each other and nobody needs that.
> 
> 8\. I managed to write this 6k word fanfiction from two different perspectives and not mention boobs ONCE, @Jim Butcher get on my level.


End file.
